Every Sail to the Breeze
by icearrows1200
Summary: Linebeck, a sailor in His Majesty's Navy, lives a painfully mundane life aboard a ship, ranking hardly higher than the meek cabin boy, Link. But soon, an opportunity arises for Linebeck to fleetingly be someone he is not- and his lies inherit involvement of their own, involvement that certainly shatters his tedious routine. Historical AU, very late X-mas fic for ctj!
1. Chapter 1

_To ctj: a writer and friend who not only changes the lives of her characters, but has changed my life as well._

 _(Historical notes are at the end.)_

* * *

 **Come loose every sail to the breeze.**

 **The course of my vessel improve;**

 **I've done with the toils of the seas,**

 **Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love.**

 ** _Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love,_**

 ** _Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love,_**

 ** _I've done with the toils of the seas,_**

 ** _Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love._**

 ** _-Come, Loose Every Sail to the Breeze,_ Traditional Sea Shanty**

* * *

What a routine.

There was possibly no more difficult way to awaken, nothing that could turn his eyelids to solid iron, better than the shout of the Botswain and the groan of sailors in their small hammocks. The icy _thwack_ of his infamous cane against the walls, the sailor's legs, his earthy bellow commanding all to _wake up, wake up_ , and rise from their hammocks like the undead, was the bane of Linebeck's existence, as it had been for both the better and worse part of nearly twenty years.

In accordance with routine, he scrambled from his hammock, slid into his boots and threw his thin coat over his clothes that desperately needed washing, and soon the day was in full swing- sails raised, ropes pulled, insults thrown, and course set. Linebeck was particularly involved in rope pulling and had the calloused, raw hands to prove it.

The night shift had it lucky, in his opinion: not much headway was ever made at night, and most sailors were allowed to sleep on deck. But Linebeck, in all his fortune, was the recipient of a morning shift, of the Lieutenants' verbal abuse and Botswain's cane, of lugging and loading and pulling all before breakfast.

 _Join the Navy_ , they'd all said, a voice of warped mockery of the past, _You could make something of yourself_.

Easy for them to say, a pair of farmers who could hardly scrape a few potatoes out of the ground. To them, all-you-can-eat oatmeal and sawdust biscuits must've been a dream. But it was the hard-truth of reality that made it difficult to get up in the morning: those farmers- his parents- had died fifteen years ago and he'd been boasting the same rank for the last eighteen years with no sign of a promotion in sight.

As an Able Seaman, his rank spoke of a man who had at least three years of naval experience, never mind that he'd been doing the same routine over six _times_ that amount. Many were in his same position, it was true, but that didn't make it any less dejecting when he obviously could climb through the ranks, should someone let him.

Sure, he hadn't any true skills besides rope-pulling, but he could _learn_. Maybe one of the quarter-gunners would kick the bucket in some freak accident and they'd sense Linebeck's potential, pull him up the ladder to teach him something less mundane. Ah, what a dream.

It was nearly noon by the time Lieutenant Garrickson began stalking the decks, narrowly avoiding tripping over the little cabin boy in green vigorously scrubbing the decks before the clack of his boots halted, and Linebeck turned from his rope pulling as the deck fell silent.

"Attention sailors!" He bellowed, "This evening, we will be docking in Liverpool and Captain Lenzo has graciously allowed each sailor his own night of leave."

A roar of cheers threatened to burst through the seams of the sailors' silence; four weeks it'd been since they'd last touched land- a long span for a ship during peacetime.

" _However_ ," pressed Garrickson, raising a long, gangly finger in objection, "You may as well be warned now that if even a _single_ man finds it within his will to flee his commitment to the Royal Navy, he _will_ be found and _severely_ punished."

It was the usual threat, then, promising hell on earth to those who dare desert. But it wasn't as if the Navy could search the entirety of Great Britain to find a single man, although Linebeck could hardly think of where he'd go or what he'd do if given the opportunity to flee.*

Garrickson was evidently finished speaking, but had barely made an about-face when his boot landed straight in the cabin boy's bucket, sending a spray of foul-colored water everywhere- in particular, the formerly pristine, white cotton of Garrickson's coat.

The puddle grew like a wound across the deck, stopping just before Linebeck's own boots. He might have ignored it, but a prepubescent squeal drew his attention elsewhere.

"You foul little _beast_!" Garrikson cried. With a powerful jerk of his arm, he seized the collar of the cabin boy's shirt and shook him vigorously. "In the presence of an officer, you will _stand at attention._ In no way are you to sabotage an officer's uniform nor dignity for your own pranks, _boy!_ "

While it was clearly an accident, the boy said nothing, as he usually did in situations of scapegoat abuse like this. The previous cabin boy had been pretty mouthy, but this new one was of the utmost silent standard; Linebeck wondered if he could even talk at all. Behind his rat's nest of blonde hair, the boy was a frail and shaking mess, and if Linebeck didn't despise children so much, he might've pitied him.

Drenched in filth and seething with white-hot rage, Garrickson launched the boy towards the deck, where he landed with a resounding thud. "We'll take this to Captain Lenzo, boy, and then we'll see who laughs last."

Though the show seemed to be over, and Linebeck finally decided to return to his normal work besides enjoying any kind of stimulation as a spectacle-spectator, Garrickson barked out one last order: "You there!"

Out of the two hundred or so men on deck, the odds were quite slim, but Garrickson's glare of steel assured Linebeck that probability never truly sided with him.

"Clean up this mess! I want it done by the time I return or you've no leave this evening." Garrickson picked up the cabin boy by the thin collar of his shirt as he spoke, hauling him towards the Ward Room.

"But Lieutenant, I-" Linebeck protested reflexively.

"I said, get it _done_ ," Garrickson spat, "Bloody Irish _filth_."**

Well, there it was. If not for his lack of skill or political connections, his stagnant role on the ship may as well be attributed to one single factor: his blood.

Spiting the boy and his accident-prone bucket, the Lieutenant, and his ancestry all at once, Linebeck heaved up the overturned bucket, found the chipped and frayed brush, and began absentmindedly scrubbing away at the deck. With his leave hanging over his head like a carrot, his choice was simple, but not at all pleasant. On his hands and knees, scrubbing the deck like a common cabin boy, he figured he must've looked a fool, but it wasn't as if any other man would've denied the Lieutenant work in exchange for his leave.

"Poor Link," Came a grimy, accented voice from Linebeck's left. He blinked, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and found Kreeb, his messmate and fellow Irishman, poised thoughtfully as Linebeck continued scrubbing diligently.

"Who's Link?"

"The cabin boy, you idiot." He added as an afterthought, "You can bet I would rather eat me own socks than be Garrickson's scapegoat."

"I didn't know he _had_ a name," Linebeck droned, "Are you going to help me with this or not? I don't deserve this."

"No, I won't, not while I've got some breathing room myself. And you _do_ deserve this, ye bloody Irish _filth_!" Kreeb bellowed.

"You're Irish, too," Linebeck retorted listlessly, "Any other day this would be _you_. Garrickson just so happened to see me first and I'm not about to surrender a night of leave just to keep me hands clean."

Evidently, Kreeb was struggling to listen to Linebeck's lament, because he continued to strut about Linebeck's slaving form and thought aloud.

"Joke's on Garrickson, though. Captain Lenzo couldn't punish any cabin boy if he _tried_. Man's about as cruel as a bundle o' kittens." He came to a halt, his boots merely inches from Linebeck's hands, "Coxswain told me Captain just sits in his quarters all day, looking at old drawings and the like. What d'ye think of _that_ , Linebeck?"

"Right now," Linebeck leaned forward and scrubbed with more conviction than before, "I don't give a squid's arse about the captain's habits. Or the cabin boy."

"OI!" Cried a voice of higher rank from across the ship, "KREEB! QUIT LOLLY-GAGGNIG AND GET OVER HERE!"

"There's Dampa again," Kreeb sighed, looking onward, as if something beyond the horizon other than manual labor awaited him.

Linebeck dismissed him with a wave of his free hand, cursing this time all the aforementioned reasons of his obligation to the Navy _and_ Keeb, who just so happened to be Linebeck's only source of human interaction. Scrubbing was hard on the knees, for sure, but it was nowhere near as taxing as rope-pulling, and for that he was admittedly thankful for this humiliating but temporary solace.

In particular, it was temporary, because after a dedicated ten minutes of scrubbing, another pair of boots- very, very small boots- appeared before his raw hands and bucket of filth-water. Shielding his eyes from the sun, which had peaked at its zenith in both location and potency against the raw, blue sky, Linebeck scowled at the cabin boy- evidently named Link- and stood, allowing the boy to pitifully replace his labor.

"They've got it in for you, huh, kid?" Linebeck mused aloud.

Link's shaggy locks of blonde hair shook as he scrubbed with fervor, however fruitlessly- a deck upon which men's boots trod will always boast grime and filth, but the punishment itself was far more symbolic: polishing something that is foul to its core is a vain attempt.

"What'd they give you? A week without food? Hand wash the sails?"

"Thirteen lashes tomorrow at sunrise."

Linebeck gaped- not only at the punishment in question, but at the fact that Link, the mute cabin boy whose silence absorbed even the most harsh of curses and insults, had a voice.

"Thirteen? Damn, are they allowed to do that to a kid?" Linebeck scratched the stubble on his chin in wonder, "How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense, then. I thought Captain was a bit softer than _that_ ," With an unapologetic huff, Linebeck took a step back- it wouldn't be long before his superiors would be calling for his return- "Just… uh… try and think of something else when they're doing it. Think of… treasure, or something. Whatever gets you through it."

"Have _you_ ever been lashed?" The inquiry was laced thickly with acid.

"As a matter of fact, _no_ , but I've seen it plenty of times," Swallowing thickly, Linebeck thought it'd be best to leave at that moment before the kid either decided Linebeck was a better deck-scrubber than he, or burst into tears. In either situation, he would still find no reason to either pity or respect Link.

With superb timing, Dampa shouted haughtily across the deck, his voice carrying as powerfully as his rank, "LINEBECK! UNLESS YOU WANT TO _KEEP_ SCRUBBING THE DECK, GET OVER HERE AND DO YOUR SODDING JOB!"

As was expected, Linebeck abandoned his meager conversation with Link and returned to his post, pulling ropes and avoiding the force of those larger and stronger than he. Soon, the sun had run its due course and lay dangerously close to the edge of the horizon, the ocean threatening to swallow it whole until its freedom the next morning. But as night delivered its promise of darkness, Garrickson's promise held true as well, as a mass of glowing deliverance that grew in size and glory the nearer they sailed: land.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This is going to be a three-shot, I think. But before you go, please go check out ctj: a wonderful, talented author and dedicated and kind friend whose writing is as beautiful as the Legend of Zelda series itself! This is supposed to be her Christmas fic, but as you can see, I procrastinate. Happy…. Primary Election Season? St. Patrick's Day? Leap Year?_

 _As promised, here are some historical notes for you nerds out there:_

 _Important Terms:_

 _Botswain- one of the standing officers on the ship, meaning he was permanently stuck with one particular ship his whole career. He was responsible for the maintenance of the ship's rigging, but was also a feared figure among the sailors, responsible for waking the sailors, as well as discipline._

 _Able Seaman- A sailor with three or more years of experience. Most sailors never get past this rank. Essentially, Linebeck and others like him are laborers._

 _Lieutenant- A commissioned officer. Lieutenants are trained from a young age as Midshipman- young boys whose careers in the Navy are funded and eventually take a test to become a Lieutenant. They are each in charge of one hundred or so men, and a very large ship might have six Lieutenants._

 _Coxswain- A petty officer technically in charge of the row boat that rows the captain to shore, but also the captain's right-hand man; he isn't very high in rank, but he serves as the captain's connection between the officers and the lower decks. This is why he both talks to Keeb, but also knows what the Captain's up to._

 _Ward Room- The dining and meeting room of the officers._

 _Cabin Boy- The lowest position on the ship; sometimes he was a servant to the captain, but in Link's case, he is merely a punching bag and laborer. Niko from the Wind Waker was probably the equivalent of this rank._

 _*If a sailor actually were to run away, groups known as Press Gangs, hired by the Navy, would actively hang around pubs and look for run-away sailors before "pressing" them into service again. This became known as impressment (one of the causes of the War of 1812) but also resulted in a lot of non-sailors mistakenly in the Navy._

 _** The Irish were not treated very well in the British Royal Navy, or at all. There were a few Irish captains during the nineteenth century, but for the most part, any Irishman was not going to get very high in the ranks._

 _I did quite a bit of research for this story, including reading "Life in Nelson's Navy" by Brian Lavery. It's a short, unpretentious, informative book that I read in one evening and provided me with a lot of historical details. If this kind of thing catches your interest, I suggest you read that for a bit of quick info! Wikipedia works well, too. There's a whole page dedicated to the ranks of the Navy of this era._


	2. Chapter 2

_Once again, to ctj._

* * *

For a tavern in the heart of Liverpool in the early evening of a bitter March Saturday, it was surprisingly empty.

But with many taverns from which to choose, it was no surprise that this one wasn't the apple of northern England's eye; from the ceiling, dingy oil lamps radiated a musty yellow glow, illuminating clouds of dust and smoke that loitered above the chipped wooden tables.

The clink of mugs against tables echoed perpetually, as if all past, present and future drinkers were trying to get their voices- or a drunken message- across through the musical chorus of various glass pitches.

Linebeck finished his own, long drink from the mug and set it on the table with a contributing _clink_ , and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, which had grown to smell of ale over the years. Not that he was a drunkard- well, not any more than any other sailor was- but it was far easier to store alcohol on a ship than water. Not only that, but it kept the sailors happy, too. At least, to some extent.

He'd been in the tavern for a half hour or so, reveling in the solid ground beneath his feet, the warmth of the fireplace, and- the rarest gift of them all- solitude. What he wouldn't give for a night like this once a week- as long as he needn't scrub the deck.

All that remained in his mug were the ghosts of his drink, a ring of foam, and he'd like to return to the ship relatively conscious, but ale is not a woman easily denied.

"You're not from around here, are you, Sir?"

Ripped from his thoughts rather violently, Linebeck jerked his head to the owner of the voice and, to his embarrassment, nearly jumped in surprise.

A young woman, certainly not the man who had served him earlier, stood beside his table, another ale in her pale hands. Petite in frame and features, she sported a blonde ripple of curls down her back, sprawling over the back of her dress and her stained apron.

"No, I'm…" He cleared his throat, "I'm not. Why do you ask?"

"I'd say we know our usuals quite well," She explained, setting the mug on the table, "And you aren't one of them."

He fixed his gaze on her for a beat, scrutinizing her as she waited for his reply- something that he unsurprisingly couldn't find.

Seemingly unhindered by what Linebeck felt to be a very awkward situation, she grinned broadly, "My grandfather is the owner of the tavern. I help him out on occasion. I'm Ciela."

Ciela took the liberty to study him, and Linebeck found that the only suitable response was to take a drink of his ale. When, as he watched her over the rim of his mug, she didn't leave, he sighed uncomfortably, "Can I do something for you?"

"Oh," she blinked, "Well, no, not really, but I was just wondering…" She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip, "Are you a sailor?"

Almost helplessly, he grinned, leaning back into his chair, "But of course. Did my presence of adventure give me away?"

"Um, no," She said, glancing at her feet, "I'm not sure what a 'presence of adventure' might look like, but when a new man steps in here, he's most often a sailor. Have you…" She said cautiously, "Have you been to America?"

"Naturally," Linebeck lied flippantly, "Any captain worth his salt has been to the New World and more."

"You're a _captain_?" She gasped, laughing in disbelief, "Sir, with all due respect, shouldn't you be at a nicer tavern? This isn't exactly the heart of Liverpool."

"Consider it my gift to your… _establishment_ ," Managing to suppress his accent- no captain _he'd_ ever met wouldn't have been caught dead near anything remotely Irish- he gestured grandly to the seat across from him. When she chanced a glance at his clothing, Linebeck staggered to cover his excuse, "You see, I don't like to wear my uniform while I'm out."*

"I see," She accepted, though clearly hesitant.

"Miss Ciela, why don't you have a drink with me?"

Her grin fell instantly. Affronted, she straightened to her full height- which was hardly a few inches over five feet. Reflexively, she glanced at the old man behind the counter, slowly, and perhaps aimlessly, drying a mug with an old rag, "I don't think my grandfather would approve."

"There's hardly anyone else here," Linebeck countered. True to his word, a small cluster of men stuffed themselves out the door, leaving only Linebeck, Ciela, the man behind the counter, and an unconscious fool in the corner.

"This is our family's tavern," She defended, "And, forgive me, sir, but I'll not soil its name by having a drink with one of the customers while I'm serving him- be it busy or not."

For a moment, he pondered his response over the dull bite of ale down his throat while Ciela stood in silence awaiting- probably eagerly- how he would react. It was a test, then- maybe she had been waiting for some poor sailor to stumble by and act as an effigy for her repressed verbal audacity; but from her narrowed- were they narrowed? Could she see through him?- autumn colored eyes, he was no sailor, but a captain drinking his ale.

"Suit yer-" he cleared his throat, " _Your_ self, then."

Like blue skies turned unexpectedly turbulent, her delicate features furrowed into brash repulsion. "Captain-"

"Lenzo," He lied easily.

"Captain Lenzo," She spat his name as if he were the plague, "I may not be any sort of lady, and though you may be a captain, and our bar might be on its last leg, but we still deserve the dignity-"

"Wait," Linebeck interrupted, "You mean it's usually this empty?"

Though it was intended as an insult of habit, Ciela scoffed with exhausted, frustrated humor, and, to his astonishment, collapsed into the chair across from him.

The atmosphere had grown incurably tense, and- somehow- a reconciliation between strangers seemed more of an unachievable feat than one between friends; Linebeck took the opportunity to take another sip of ale, watching her figure warp into an amber puddle from behind the glass.

"It's never been more busy," She admitted.

Linebeck set down his mug cautiously, "I'm sorry." Though if he was being genuine, he did not know.

"I don't _need_ your pity, Captain Lenzo."

"It's not pity."

She raised a dubious eyebrow but, as Linebeck observed, she settled on restraining any further comment, "My brother, sister, grandfather and I run this tavern, but my sister is getting married this spring, and my brother- well, my brother is a lost soul and has gone completely bankrupt. He's rubbish at numbers and a bit of a gambler, so none of us are keen on letting him near the money. He'll likely be arrested soon, and if not, he'll end up in service."

Linebeck watched with uncomfortable sympathy as she shyly stroked her blonde mass of curls. Thinking back to the ship, Linebeck imagined Link working diligently, furiously scrubbing out the filth from Garrickson's coat, awaiting his further punishment. "I've seen worse," He said.

Having evidently not heard his snide remark, she let out a gasp of delight and her face grew vibrant with sudden joy, "Do you think you could take my brother on? He's a hard worker-" She flushed and continued to ramble, "When I said he's a lost soul, I only meant… I mean he's rubbish at numbers, and what he _does_ gamble is always his own." She shook her head woefully, "I apologize for this impertinence, it's only that he's my brother and I'd never forgive myself if something ever happened to him."

Linebeck swallowed thickly, his veneer- the charlatan of a captain- splintering rapidly like thin ice under pressure. From those cracks seeped the flush of self-consciousness. Nonetheless, he diligently attempted to maintain his position.

"Those things are tricky, you see. A lot of paperwork and…tests are involved."

"Truly?" Ciela eyed him skeptically, "All he'd care to do is pull ropes or the like. I'm sure he'd be quite helpful."

Wincing involuntarily, Linebeck stood promptly and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I ought to leave now," He said, "A captain must always be attentive."

"You will try, though, won't you, sir?" She asked, collecting his ale mug. While it was a question, it sounded dangerously like a threat.

"I will try," He enunciated, "But I cannot promise anything."

"I hope you can. It might not do the tavern any good, but at least he'll be safe in the end."

Her expression had fallen, and though Linebeck's very being was being dragged towards the exit by his sense of self-preservation, he found suddenly that his chest had clenched uncomfortably and his face mirrored her painstakingly crushed demeanor. Out of what? Pity? No; and not empathy, either.

"I have an idea," He said impulsively.

She looked genuinely astounded, "Really?"

Linebeck returned to his seat, "I don't know about taking your brother on, but what if I was able to find someone to work for you, to fill in the gap left by your brother and sister?"

"And who would be working for me?" She asked dubiously.

"…The cabin boy."

Ciela raised an eyebrow, "I don't want to put a young boy through anything too difficult."

Cynically, Linebeck remarked, "Well, it'd be a hell of a lot easier than anything on the ship."

"Do you treat him poorly, Captain?"

Linebeck waved his hands in objection, "No-" he started, "Of course not! The Lieutenant tends to single him out, give him the worst work, you know-"

"Aren't you in charge of the Lieutenant?" Ciela objected.

"Yes, of course," He rambled wildly, "But I can't have everyone in my charge, now can I? It's tradition- but Cabin Boys are _easily_ replaceable, so he certainly won't be missed. In fact, young boys practically line up for the job. This one's a hard worker, but I don't think he's cut out for the Navy."

When he had finished, Ciela questioned him cautiously. "What's his name?"

"Uh… Link. He's thirteen."

"And you think he would like to work here?"

"Oh, yes- he's back on the ship.** Though he's a quiet boy, I'll tell you that.; hardly says a word around anyone he doesn't trust."

"I'd be ever so kind to him," Ciela gushed.

Standing halfway out of his chair, Linebeck eyed the exit longingly, "If you'd like to meet him, I could bring him back here rather quickly."

"Don't you think I ought to meet him first? To save both you and him the trouble of walking all the way from the ship to the tavern and back if he doesn't want the job?"

Linebeck paused with deliberation. It would be far easier to just run now, to tell her he's changed his mind and spare himself the risk of sneaking Ciela on the ship and Link off. But watching a lashing was quite a nauseating affair, especially when it was just a kid at the receiving end; and he wouldn't like to see the outcome if Ciela began insisting to various residents of Liverpool that Captain Lenzo himself had come to her tavern and offered her his Cabin Boy.

"All right," Linebeck relented, "Come on, then. We ought to leave now."

"Grandpapa," Ciela called to the man behind the counter, "I'm going for a walk."

Beneath his enormous, white, mustache, the man garbled, thickly-accented and touched with reproach, "With _this_ man?"

And it was then that Linebeck realized the nature of this circumstance, that Ciela was young- no more than twenty-three- and naïve, her grandfather strikingly aware of it and accordingly protective, and Linebeck- some grimy rope-pulling sailor (or, to Ciela, a grimy but sympathetic captain) was offering to taker her to an undisclosed location. While Linebeck's intentions were true, he didn't blame the old man for a second.

"Yes," Ciela answered matter-of-factly, "He's the captain of the ship docked in town, and he's offered to give us his Cabin Boy to fill the absence of Neri and Leaf." Her honesty was rather painful.

The old man slapped the rag down on the counter with distaste, "In exchange for what?"

Linebeck's jaw slackened, " _Excuse_ me?"

"Don't be silly, Grandpapa," said Ciela, pitifully oblivious, "Don't you want to save the tavern?"

The old man, though short, frail, and hidden beneath tremendous amounts of facial hair and a large brow, glared straight through Linebeck's soul. Despite the skepticism evident in his words, his voice was calm and neutral. "This man is the captain of a ship?"

"Yes: his name is Captain Lenzo. And his Cabin Boy isn't cut out for life in the Navy, so he's offering to let him work for us."

The old man did not narrow his eyes and did not falter in his steadiness when he spoke: "Well, I suppose that's quite kind of him. If it doesn't come to fruition, the repercussions could be quite severe, wouldn't they, Captain Lenzo?"

Linebeck had gambled, fought, and drank his way through a plethora of threats during his time in the Navy, and usually, he had been on the losing end and faced pathetic consequences. But something told him now that the greying man behind the counter was far more powerful than he appeared.

"Yes, of course," Linebeck managed.

"Very well, then," He capitulated, "If you believe it will do our tavern some good, then go on, Ciela, but return soon."

"Oh, I _will_ ," She beamed, "Please don't worry about me, Grandpapa; I'm quite able to fend for myself."

Somehow, this task had gone from mildly entertaining to agonizingly uncomfortable and Linebeck wished he hadn't left the ship at all. Ciela left the room to fetch her mantel*** and Linebeck was left alone with the old man, who continued gently rubbing the rag on a glass.

"She's always been lively, that one," He remarked after a beat of silence.

"I see."

"And Captain Lenzo," He said sagely, "I really would enjoy meeting the Cabin Boy."

Linebeck paled, "Of course, Sir."

Ciela returned, her beige mantel draped smoothly across her back. "Are you ready, Captain Lenzo?" She gently untangled her flouncing blonde curls with a free hand, "We'll have to leave now if we want to return before tomorrow morning."

With a single turn, her skirts hissing against the wooden floor as she moved, she bid goodbye to her grandfather and motioned for Linebeck to follow. Like any sensible captain would, he held the door open for her, and the biting but lush air greeted them, rich with the fleeting scent of spring's first bloom and the salt from the nearby crashing waves. In the distance, horse hooves tapped delicately against cobblestone and the groan of carriage wheels echoed throughout the still night.

Under the golden light of creaking gas lamps and the broad, silver beams of the iridescent full moon, Ciela caught the glow of night as if it were her own, and smiled.

"Where to, Captain?"

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading this second chapter! How do you think this will turn out? Will Linebeck be caught in his lie?_

 _*Any captain would have certainly worn his uniform when out; Linebeck's just a particularly good liar and Ciela is gullible._

 _**Link, as a cabin boy, would have never been granted leave for fear of him deserting._

 _***A mantel is something that resembles a cloak and was worn by women during the 17_ _th_ _to 19_ _th_ _century; this story takes place around 1830, hence gas lamps and the like._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N:_ _ **Important: there will be more than three chapters; likely four and possibly five.**_ _Just a forewarning, there are a lot of mentions of prostitution and foul language in this chapter._

 _For ctj._

Rocking gently in the soupy, black, shore waters, the ship's dinghies*- around a dozen large, row-powered boats and four small two-seaters- remained tied together at the wooden posts as Linebeck and Ciela meandered down the dock.

Lifting the lantern higher so as to better illuminate the boat, Linebeck allowed Ciela to take a seat in one of the smaller dinghies while he balanced it with his hand. Once she was settled, Linebeck joined her, hoisting the oars out of place and dipping them into the water.

He had rowed no more than a few strokes before Ciela finally spoke.

"It's so dark," She breathed in wonder, "It's beautiful how _black_ everything seems- even the moon seems to lose its luster over such a dark sea."

"I've never thought of it that way," Linebeck remarked, the oars disturbing the midnight pool beneath them, "Though I suppose the stars envy the moon, then. They hardly have a drop of light when set against the moon."

"Yes, but there are more stars than there are moons."

Linebeck shook his head wistfully and continued rowing, though Ciela's attention did not venture far from the night sky.

Several minutes passed in a comfortable, thick silence, where only the groan of the oars and slosh of lifting water made conversation, until Ciela finally settled her eyes on him.

"You look simply exhausted, Captain," Ciela commented, "Let me try rowing."

"I certainly am _not_ ," Linebeck retorted briskly, "I do this quite often, mind you."

"I shan't believe that; doesn't you coxswain do the rowing for you? Now," She implored, "Let me give it a go."

Linebeck rolled his eyes heavenward in distaste, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Why not? They couldn't possibly be _that_ heavy."

As if only to humor her, he offered her the oars and she accepted the challenge, gripping the wood with fervor. With one, strong movement, she lifted both out of the water and they broke clear in the moonlight, dropping beads of silver beneath them. Her face sparkled with confidence as the oars cut once more into the water, propelled by her unassuming muscles.

"I'm impressed," Linebeck commented genuinely as she completed two, then three more strokes.

"I reckon you don't know many lasses who can do this, eh, Captain?"

"I don't," He admitted, though he hardly knew any lasses at all, "In fact, a few of me own friends can still hardly manage it."

Ciela hesitated, then continued rowing.

"Miss Ciela?"

"I apologize. It was just that… for a moment, you sounded…"

"Yes?" Linebeck prompted, though he knew the answer was something he'd rather not hear.

"Nothing. Please forget I said anything." She managed to smile out of what was likely politeness, "Would you like to continue rowing? I'm afraid my arms are growing weak."

Linebeck figured he wouldn't be wrong if he wagered she could propel them all the way to the ship, but he accepted the oars and they continued onwards.

A quarter hour had stalked painstakingly by before they were finally a mere few feet from the hull of the ship, the enormous mass looming above them; both of them felt suddenly small and insignificant beside the span of wood beams and rocking beneath the billowing clouds of lax sails.

Glancing up, Ciela raised a skeptical eyebrow, "And... how are we to get up?"

Linebeck looked up as well. Above them, even in the darkness, he could make out the silhouette of the rigging that was so often lowered and raised to allow men on and off of their boats. Though it was never a one-man job; in fact, it was impossible to do it alone, and that was why a handful of men were always left aboard to raise the boats out of the water. But they hadn't had leave in so long that Linebeck doubted there were anymore than two men left, Link included. And anyone who remained was likely sleeping, not anticipating any arrivals for some hours to come.

"Well, lass, you'd better start praying that whoever is up there is awake and on deck."

"Do you mean to say we could be stuck out here? That's awfully careless."

Linebeck ignored her and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Oi!" He shouted as loud as he could muster, "Is anybody up there!?"

A moment in bated silence passed until the sound of booted footsteps reverberated through the air.

"Linebeck? Is that you down there?"

To his horror- or perhaps his relief, depending on how good of a liar Linebeck could present himself as- the voice belonged to Kreeb. When both he and Ciela leaned back, they could make out the shadow of a figure leaning over the ramparts, but hardly more than that.

Ciela turned to him, "Why did he call you Linebeck? Captain?"

"One of my, erm… Lieutenants has that name. The man aboard must have confused us." He cupped his hands once more and shouted back, struggling to disguise his voice a second time, "No, you fool! This is your captain- Captain Lenzo!"

There was a beat of further silence, until finally, to Linebeck's amazement, the rigging began groaning downwards, an enormous iron hook attached to a thick rope. In a matter of minutes it had reached their small boat, where Linebeck managed to affix the hook to the rowboat.

"Bring her up, now!"

"Aye, aye," Kreeb responded hesitantly.

The entire process lasted hardly five minutes, for the dinghy was light and Kreeb was well practiced with the machine. Soon, they breached the edge of the ship and hovered in place, dozens of feet above the waterline. Linebeck met Kreeb's gaze but said nothing, taking a cautious step onto the deck. He turned around and offered Ciela his hand, steadying her as she joined them.

To Linebeck's dismay, Kreeb began speaking before Linebeck could stifle any untoward conversation.

"You? Trapping about? Why, that's unlike _you_!" Kreeb scoffed in disbelief, "You haven't brought back a whore** since Jol-"

"Lieutenant Kreeb," Linebeck interrupted with importance before Ciela could lose her temper or Kreeb could say another word, "This is Lady Ciela; and as a _Lady_ , she will be treated with the utmost respect while we show her the ship. Am I clear?"

Kreeb narrowed his eyes at both Linebeck and Ciela while the pseudo-captain tried desperately to convey his meaning through pained facial-expressions.

"As you wish, Captain Lenzo…" Kreeb said with a jerk of his head, "Milady, I think you'll find the decks below quite…" He glanced at Linebeck for verification, "…fascinating?"

"Quite," Ciela beamed, and Linebeck wondered if she was enjoying the sudden treatment of rank.

Linebeck took the opportunity to stride ahead and speak with Kreeb as they passed through the first door. "Be a mate and don't say anything," He hissed.

"I _am,_ " Kreeb assured, "But Linebeck- what are you bloody _doing_?"

"I'm…" Linebeck struggled as they began their descent into the lower decks, "I'm saving the cabin boy and this woman is taking him back to shore."

"Well, if it suits you, then I'll help." He chanced a glance back at Ciela, "I'd fancy going with her. She's a proper bit of frock, she is. She's not married, is she?"

"Nay, I don't reckon, though I'd eat my socks if she fancied you." For his own enjoyment, he added: " _She_ is a Lady, and right now, you're nothing more than an Irish Lieutenant, pushed around by his own captain." They passed through another door and into the span of the deck below. From what Linebeck knew, Link usually slept on the bottom deck, so two more levels would need to be traversed before reaching their destination. "Just let me get through with this and we'll talk about that later."

Bewildered, Kreeb shook his head, "All right, Linebeck, but Garrickson will go mad."

Stomach dropping to his feet in dread, Linebeck nearly froze, "He's not on the ship, is he?"

"…He's in his cabin, I suspect; I brought him and some whore up about an hour ago."

"Oh, well, that's a riot; I always reckon he couldn't get a woman to even say 'hello'. She must fancy pricks."

"Aye, well, just get the Cabin Boy out of here if that's your business, and-"

"Captain Lenzo," Ciela's voice, a half step above a whisper and several feet behind them, broke their conversation. Having been excluded for the past few minutes, she scrambled to catch up, joining them in stride and conversation cheerfully.

"Do you ever stop and look at all of this?" She tilted her chin upwards and rested her gaze on the hundreds of wooden beams and fraying rope, "All my life I've lived in Liverpool, hardly a mile from the sea, and until now I've never seen the inside of a ship. If I were a sailor, I'd spend _hours_ gazing at the horizon, how it seems to go on forever; and watch as the storm clouds roll over the sun- huge and gray and thundering."

"I'm afraid we don't have much time for that, Milady," Kreeb said, "We spend half our time trying to keep the boat afloat."

They walked down the second set of stairs, past the rows of canons, positioned against the portholes like gargoyles peering over their domain; the canopy of empty hammocks; and the forests of barrels. Linebeck had never seen the ship so empty- for eighteen years, he had always seen something happening aboard, or been on leave. The shout of Lieutenants and grunts of laboring men were missed; the coxswain's hurried footsteps from deck to deck and the snap of the sails billowing in the breeze, taut but pregnant with the caught wind, were such a part of sailing that without them, it was hardly a ship anymore.

At last, they came to the final deck, eerily creaking below the waterline and filled like a labyrinth with stacks of crates and sacks of grain. The room smelled wet and stale, and for a brief moment, Linebeck pitied Link; merely a young boy, probably without parents (and if he _did_ have any, who knew where they were?), forced to sleep among the ship's resources as if he, too, were merely a tool.

Out of the stillness, a voice broke almost defiantly through.

"Who's there?"

The trio froze. From behind a crate, the slight form of Link appeared: delicate and apprehensive, but hardly frightened.

"Link," Ciela responded before Linebeck could even try, "Come over here, won't you? I've come to take you to my home where you needn't work aboard a ship any longer."

Link took a step forward, perhaps merely out of curiosity rather than coercion, and, underneath the dim glow of the lantern, the boy looked painfully gaunt- ghostly, even.

He eyed Linebeck with a puzzled, yet amused expression, but said not a word about the peculiarity of the situation.

"You're taking me away? For good? But what about…" Link caught himself, and Linebeck found himself impressed at the way the boy intuitively knew what information to withhold given the bleak amount of context.

"Aye," Linebeck whispered, choosing his words carefully, "Listen, boy***: I reckon the Navy's not for you. If you went with Lady Ciela here, there would be no consequences, I promise. Do you understand?"

Link nodded solemnly, understanding both Linebeck's words, but also their implication; tomorrow, there would be no lashing.

Turning to Ciela, Link straightened his posture with importance, "Milady, I would be living here in Liverpool, correct?"

"Yes."

For a moment, Link appeared hesitant, as if not quite understanding the motivations of either of them. Nonetheless, he nodded again, "Then I accept. And I thank you both." He gave a slight bow, "You, too, Kreeb."

Overcome with significance, Kreeb extended his arm to Ciela- which she accepted- and began towards the steps, "Well, then, if you're ready, Captain? Milady? Link?"

Two-by-two, they took the stairs to the next deck, and Linebeck found himself beside Link who was, as always, dutiful and silent.

"I expect you're confused, boy," Linebeck offered, "But she's a decent woman, at least. Though I'll tell you know she's no Lady, at least, not by title- I only said that to make Kreeb look a fool. She works at a tavern, though I doubt any work there will be worse than thirteen lashes."

"And she thinks you're a captain, doesn't she?" Link mused.

Linebeck smiled despite himself, "Aye. And it's going to stay that way."

"You still sound like an Irishman, Linebeck."

"Enough of that, I've done me best." With a bemused shake of his head, Linebeck ushered Link through the next set of steps. Above them was the top deck, void for now of footsteps and ripe with the enticement of freedom.

Ahead of them, Kreeb and Ciela were nearing a door to the right, but Linebeck, familiar with the ship's anatomy, made an effort to catch up with them.

"That's the wrong door," Linebeck objected before Kreeb could open it, "The one on the left leads up to the deck- that one goes… God, I don't know, but it doesn't have anything to do with the top deck."

"I use this door all the time, _Captain_ ," Kreeb sneered, "This door goes straight up to the deck and both you and I have been using everyday for _years_."

"Are you questioning your own captain?" Linebeck gestured grandly to the other door, "If you'll follow me-"

"Captain Lenzo, I'm rather sure we went through _this_ door," Ciela insisted, "I remember the barrels over there, to my left as I left the door."

Sighing in frustration, Linebeck stormed over to the door on the left, "Then both of you have rubbish memories. I know exactly where we are, night or day, and we're going to-"

" _No_ ," Ciela took several audacious steps forward and pointed a finger at Linebeck, " _You_ just don't want to admit you're wrong. Perhaps you've been living above deck for so long that you can't even recall where your own sailors work."

Deeply insulted, Linebeck's expression hardened and he folded his arms at his chest. _He_ was helping _her,_ and even if he was pretending to be someone he was not, she couldn't accuse _him_ of being some aloof captain. "How _dare_ you? I've walked up and down these stairs and passed through this door nearly everyday of the last eighteen bloody years and suffered like any other man on this ship."

"There's something you're not telling me," Ciela paused and took a cautious step backwards. In the lantern light, her silhouette and hair glowed gold, which Linebeck found immensely distracting. Nonetheless, she did not falter in her keen observation of his suddenly insecure posture, "There's something wrong."

"The only thing that's wrong is that you won't admit that I know this ship better than you."

"Then you _should_ know which door is right."

"The _left_ is right!"

To prove himself correct and to end the pointless argument, Linebeck turned the knob of the left door with more force than required, and revealed a scene that neither he, Ciela, Kreeb, nor Link had been expecting.

There stood Garrickson, his freshly cleaned coat half unbuttoned and his face flush with drunkenness. Across from him, merely seconds before having been attached to Garrickson's lips, stood a woman that Linebeck, with a feeling of dread, recognized instantly.

Her exotic dark hair and tanned skin shimmered like glitter in the thick, buttery light of the oil lamps, her garb was promiscuous but colorful, and she glared daggers at the intruders, but most prominently, out of the deepest hatred a human could muster, at Linebeck.

"Jolene?"

"Linebeck!"

Their session interrupted- fortunately prematurely- Garrickson and Jolene had separated quite innocently, but was clear on what business they had come.

Ciela nudged him and whispered, "Well, you _were_ wrong."

Garrickson was the first to speak, though his tone was hardly tolerant. "Get your _own_ room, why don't you? Wardroom is for officers only and clearly, there are other things both of us would rather be doing." He leaned to the side, peering past Linebeck and Ciela's figures. His face contorted with confusion, "Is that the cabin boy?"

Link stepped behind Kreeb, though it was too late: Garrickson pushed past Linebeck, Jolene remaining calmly in the Wardroom, and made a grab for Link.

"Leave him alone," Ciela ordered, stepping in his way.

"Tch; if you're done whoring about, I suggest you _leave_ , or else I'll send both you _and_ the sailor off the ship."

"Sailor?" Ciela spun on her heel, and Linebeck winced, "Is he not…" Her face fell with sudden realization, and Linebeck suppressed a groan in frustration; he had managed his way out of all of the possible situations, only to be caught by his own foolhardiness.

There came a snort of laughter from the Wardroom, and Jolene sauntered to the doorframe, leaning against it in a way that could only be described as graceful.

"Let me guess," Jolene began saucily, "Linebeck here told you, some poor, innocent girl, that he was the captain of a ship in the Royal Navy. And you, not knowing any better, _believed_ him. Now, you're watching the lie collapse around him, until all that's left is the pathetic, rope-pulling sailor his is." She turned her attention from Ciela to Linebeck, "Linebeck, I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again."

"How could _I_ have known you'd be sleeping with the Lieutenant?"

"So it's true, then?" Ciela asked, her expression crushed and painfully hurt.

Admitting defeat, Linebeck nodded gravely.

"And you did the same to her? You lied?"

"No-" He caught Jolene's glare, "Well, yes, but Jolene and I were… and then…"

Jolene snapped, "Out with it, sailor."

"I stole her money…"

"And what were you expecting from _me_?" Ciela seethed, "I'm no prostitute, and you _know_ that; am I supposed to believe that you're saving the cabin boy out of the goodness of your own damn heart?"

Jolene laughed once more, but the sentence caught the attention of Garrickson.

"Saving the cabin boy?" He scoffed, grabbing with one hand the collar of Link's dilapidated shirt and drunkenly dragging him over to Linebeck before leaning painfully close to him, "Why don't you do what you can to save your own arse and stop meddling in things you don't understand! I've had enough of _you_ , talking back to your superiors, walking about with your head in the clouds, sneaking about the ship, bursting into the Wardroom like the pretentious, disgusting Irish bastard you are!"

At that moment, Garrickson released his grip on Link's collar because Linebeck had punched him squarely in the jaw. It hardly took Garrickson a moment to recover and return the attack, acutely and painfully across the bridge of his nose, sending him stumbling backwards.

Grabbing Garrickson by the cloth of his uniform, Linebeck heaved the former across the floor of the deck, while pain continued to bloom in his nose and he felt the familiar sensation of blood flowing like red streams down his lips and chin.

Ciela had fled with Link (and Jolene, who evidently didn't desire blood on her hands) above deck, though Kreeb- despite his rather flimsy frame- was doing his best to detain Garrickson, though the Lieutenant was far stronger than he looked.

"Get on the upper deck!" Kreeb shouted, "Just leave him be, Linebeck!"

Linebeck, fueled by white-hot anger and heart-hammering adrenaline, was uninterested in Kreeb's words, which became a mere drone in the background. Garrickson lunged at him, and Linebeck fell with an unappealing crack against the ground before taking one, then two more strikes to the face. It was a miracle that he managed to squirm out of the way- and by then, with a bleeding nose and a pounding head, the upper deck seemed far more enticing than before.

He tore through the door (the right one), up the stairs, and appeared beneath the night sky, starved for air, but nonetheless still pursued.

Linebeck mistakenly hesitated, allowing Garrickson to seize his shoulders in a signature fury, pushing him back until his shoulders were against the ramparts, the short wooden wall acting as the only separation between him and the waters below.

"You bastard," Linebeck seethed, "You're a pathetic sod, Garrickson. The whole lot of us laugh at you every day, every morning and evening; some damn fool who trips in buckets and has to pay his whores _double_ so they'll even look at you-"

Garrickson pushed Linebeck against the rampart once more to silence him. "I could kill you," he said, "I could push you over the edge and you'd drown, wouldn't you? I reckon you can't even swim. No one would miss some low-ranking bastard like you, would they? And who's going to believe a sailor, two whores, and a cabin boy that I pushed you over?"

"She's not a whore."

"Doesn't matter now, I suppose. Come now, Linebeck," he tightened his grip, "Can you swim?"

Linebeck closed his eyes, his throat tightening painfully as he struggled to breathe panicked breaths. Stupid, half-drunk Linebeck, picking fights with Lieutenants twice his size, bringing a girl aboard the ship, dubbing himself captain, and trying to save the cabin boy.

Save him from what? Thirteen lashes?

He'd live, he'd get over it.

No; this was never about Link, nor was it about Ciela, Garrickson, nor Kreeb. It was about Linebeck- some fool, lost in history, desperately, futilely trying to hide his accent.

Linebeck stopped struggling and, as he had always done best, waited.

 _*Dinghy- a small rowboat that would be lifted in and out of the water with rigging. I couldn't find much information about exactly how the rigging worked, so I took creative liberties._

 _**Sailors would quite often take prostitutes onboard during times of leave; or they would stay on land and go "trapping", or searching for prostitutes. This is why Kreeb thinks Ciela is a prostitute, or a "whore" as he puts it. In this story, Jolene is a prostitute._

 _***The term "kid" as an informal nickname wasn't coined until the 1890s, and since this is circa 1830, I replaced it with "boy"._

 _Thank you for reading and I'll have the next chapter up soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

_For ctj._

There came the sound of scuffling shoes, struggling, and a loud _smack_ of man against wood, followed by two grunts in pain, one masculine, one feminine.

Linebeck opened his eyes to the pressure on his shoulders releasing, and suddenly he was free to stand up at his full height and make sense of the situation, however difficult it was to see against the dark backdrop of night.

Garrickson was crouched in a position halfway between the aftermath of collapse and in the process of standing. He quickly staggered to his feet, and Linebeck followed his furious gaze to the figure before him. Ciela stood tensely, chest heaving with breathlessness. It didn't take Linebeck a moment more to realize she had managed to throw Garrickson to the ground.

Her knees were buckling but, Linebeck thought, certainly not out of fright.

"By God, woman!" Garrickson cried hysterically, nursing the back of his throbbing head with his palm. "You could have killed me!"

It seemed unlikely that Ciela's force was sturdy enough to have done such damage, but Ciela nonetheless showed no remorse.

"I'll do it again," She threatened viciously, "if you don't get below deck _now_."

"You can't order me around," Garrickson protested. "You've assaulted an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy. I hope you understand the severity of this—I could have you lot thrown in prison for this: it's as good as mutiny, you know!"

"Not if you can't get off the ship," Ciela warned.

Garrickson audibly swallowed. "If you have intentions of killing me, British justice and God will pity you not."

"I'm not going to murder you," Ciela said with resolve, and to Linebeck's partial dismay. "But I want you to let Link leave with me without any trouble."

Garrickson took two cautious steps forward and extended his hand forward before putting an arm on Ciela's shoulder and directing her towards the dinghy. "Look, Miss. I'm not interested in any more violence—"

"Could've fooled me," Linebeck managed, louder than he would've liked.

"—But I can't have a lass taking the cabin boy from His Majesty's Navy. Do you understand? And in a few years, he might well climb the ranks. Maybe he'll become a petty officer, if he's got the talent."

"Oh, _bollocks_ ," Linebeck swore, wiping the blood off of his upper lip. This time, he caught the attention of Garrickson and Ciela, the two of them frowning disdainfully while he wavered between confidence and cowardice, unsure of how he would continue.

"I've been slaving away in this ship for longer than this boy's been _alive_ ," He ventured icily, the remnants of rum in his veins speaking far louder than he would have normally been inclined to. His voice fell easily and deeply into its natural lilt the more he spoke: "And I've never done _nothing_ besides pull ropes and scrub decks like a common fool—I've wasted me whole life waitin' and hopin' that I'd get meself a promotion from the likes of you, but he's lying, because no man without good blood or a father kissing the captain's arse is going to get a promotion 'round here."

Frustrated, Garrickson pursed his lips and shook his head. "You make a _fool_ of yourself. Did you ever stop to consider that perhaps your lack of promotion has more to do with your bloody incompetence than your farmer blood?"

Linebeck recoiled involuntarily, but Garrickson continued, "The Navy _needs_ laborers. There's nothing exceptional about what you do, nor how you do it, Linebeck. If I were you, I'd be happy any ship would take you aboard."

Garrickson took an abrasive step forward, but Ciela stepped swiftly between the two of them. "I know a drunk sailor when I see one," She explained warily, "And you promised no more violence, so if both of you would kindly—"

With a swift and perhaps unintentional movement, he shoved Ciela out of the way, where she stumbled and fell, projecting her hands behind her to break her fall. Garrickson glanced at her with sudden regret, but Linebeck could tell that Ciela was not one to forgive easily. (Especially since she had been deceived twice in one night.)

Drawing his attention away from Ciela, Garrickson appeared once more interested in engaging in a fight, and Linebeck had to admit he wasn't entirely satisfied with letting this pompous man go free after having thrown a woman to the ground.

But that battle never came, for there was a loud and resounding _smack_ , and Garrickson crumpled to the ground, revealing behind him Ciela, oar propped against her shoulder as if an axe, still quavering from the momentum.

She dropped the oar instantly, letting it fall to the deck with an ear-splitting _crack_ , and brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She hesitated, and silence fell upon the ship as Linebeck, Jolene, Kreeb and Link stared at her in both horror and wonder.

"Is he dead?" Ciela whispered.

Jolene sauntered possessively towards the body, crouched down, and listened. "He's breathing all right," Jolene confirmed. "You aren't strong enough to kill him, but you did knock him out cold. Well done."

Ciela looked at Jolene in terror, eyes vibrantly wide, "Well _done_? What do we do? I could be hanged for this, couldn't I?"

"Not hardly," Jolene ventured, running a relaxed hand through her dark locks. "And even if that were the law, which one of us would be cruel enough to turn you in?"

Ciela seemed to consider this. Her eyes darted from Garrickson's limp body to Jolene's satisfied expression, before finally settling on Linebeck.

" _You_ ," She seethed, "This is all your fault! If you hadn't had delusions of grandeur in some small tavern, neither of us would be in this predicament." Tossing propriety to the wind, she stalked after Linebeck and yanked on his collar, "I don't know any decent man who'd trick some girl into stepping aboard a ship under the pretense that she would be getting a new worker for a tavern. It's ridiculous!" She seemed to have had her way with him and released her grip, turning on her heel in frustration.

"I'm not the one who believed me," Linebeck countered daringly, and before she could retort, he reminded her: "And the pretense still stands, if both of you so choose."

Ciela chanced a glance at Link, who had remained quiet enough during the ordeal to leave the appearance of having disappeared entirely. With a nod of his head, Link accepted. "I've never worked in a tavern before, but I can't imagine it's worse than thirteen lashes."

There was a deep harrowing silence, in which Ciela found herself unwittingly drawn to Linebeck's gaze. The gap between them was several feet in length, but it might as well have only been them on the deck. Ciela tightened her mantel around her shoulders. "Lashes?" She said softly. "That's what this is about?"

"Aye", Linebeck confirmed, "…A bit. Garrickson sentenced the boy to thirteen lashes at dawn, and with you needing a new worker, I sensed the opportunity."

"If you'd have told the truth, maybe this would've been a lot easier," Ciela offered coldly. "I'd have been sympathetic to Link no matter if you were a captain or not."

Suddenly finding the knots in the wooden floorboards to be painfully interesting, Linebeck took sudden notice of them. He knew he ought to speak, but no words came to mind. And for that, maybe Garrickson was right. Maybe rope-pulling and sail-raising was all he was capable of. Perhaps becoming and failing as a captain all in one night had given him a taste of promotion and taught him properly that it was not his prerogative to seek the top of the proverbial ladder.

"Both of you are so _dramatic_ ," Jolene moaned, drawing attention to herself as she filtered through Garrickson's coat pockets. Fortunately, the man did not rouse as Jolene removed a small wallet.

"Can I help you with your nose?" Ciela asked suddenly. When Linebeck looked at her oddly, she clarified; "It might be badly broken. I suppose the least I can do is help you wash off the blood."

True to her words, Linebeck's nose was throbbing and stinging painfully, both numb and aching simultaneously. Across his upper lip, he could feel the caked layer of dried blood, sticky and reeking of metal. With a nod of her head, Ciela gestured for him to sit on a crate beside the Quarterdeck while Kreeb wordlessly brought them a bucket of water and a distressed cloth before returning to affix a dinghy to the rigging.

Link, deciding he wanted to listen rather than speak, sat on the deck, his back against the side of the crate while Ciela began working.

Linebeck watched silently while she dunked the cloth into the bucket. The water was bitterly cold against the night air. She wiped the cloth somewhat forcefully across his upper lip, then around the crevasses of his nose.

"You _should_ apologize," Ciela reckoned absently as she dunked the cloth into the bucket, turning the water the color of wine against the lantern light, "For bringing a young woman aboard a ship on false pretenses and endangering her, but I wouldn't expect you to."

"Why not? Do you not think I'm capable of decency?"

Ciela shook her head woefully. "Well. A lack of _decency_ is different than simply refusing to admit guilt."

"You think I'm stubborn?"

"I think you're rather _yellow_ , Linebeck." Dropping the rag in the bucket, Ciela stood. "But I'd rather have an adventure with a coward than no adventure at all."

Despite himself—and despite his aching nose, exhaustion, and the unsteady and brittle wind—he smiled. Behind him, Kreeb had readied the dinghy for departure. Silently, so as not to stir Garrickson's unnerving form, Linebeck, Link, and Ciela crept across the deck and stopped at the rampart.

"You'll be in trouble," Ciela realized suddenly. "When Garrickson wakes, he'll tell the captain that you had some wench knock him unconscious before running off with the cabin boy."

With a sigh of worry, Linebeck shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, think of it now." Taking a nearly bold step forward, she steadied her voice. "Come back with Link and me. You could work at the tavern and, if you were careful, the Navy would never find you—it's a perfect plan."

For a moment, he watched her silhouette in the darkness, a slim figure drawn in on itself by the warmth of her mantel, her hair slightly unkempt and windswept from the hours of adventure, and, from the faint silver light of the moon, he noticed her cheeks were pink from the cold, exhilaration, or perhaps both.

He looked at her, and for a moment, realized—though fleetingly—that despite her naivety and somewhat abrasive personality, Ciela was kind and genuine, something of which he rarely knew and saw little.

"No," Linebeck found himself speaking before he could hardly think about it. "I mean, it would be an honor to help your tavern, but if I was ever found as a deserter, you and your family—and Link—would be put in harms way. And, as much as I'd fancy leaving at times," he chanced a glance at he sails behind him, "I am a part of the British Royal Navy."

She seemed to understand. "If you're sure?"

"Aye."

"Then, Linebeck," Ciela extended her hand as Kreeb helped Link clamber into the boat. She averted her eyes from his, and Linebeck didn't blame her—he had gone from dashing, generous captain to a sly, clumsy, deck-scrubber in the matter of a few hours. In the process, they had unfortunately broken a menagerie of rules and she had learned far more than either have them would have liked, but now she was leaving with whom she came for: the cabin boy that was not his to give.

He accepted her hand and kissed it, and for one last moment, they were Captain Lenzo and Lady Ciela once more, able to pretend they were in different circumstances and people who they were not.

"I doubt we'll meet again, and yet…" She visibly fought a smirk and managed to look him in the eye. "I'm glad I met you. I enjoyed watching you caught in your own lie— not to mention the look on your face when you recognized Jolene."

Linebeck found that he couldn't help but return the grin that she was giving him—so surely _giving,_ because he felt no guilt in accepting it. "Well, if I've made your evening, Milady, then I'm much obliged."

She laughed. "I must admit, I enjoyed pretending to be a Lady of Leisure, even if it was only for an hour or so—and I'm sure you absolutely _loved_ being a captain for the evening, hm?"

"I might've fooled you, too," Linebeck lamented, "If it hadn't been for Garrickson and Jolene—ugh, sod them _both_."

Ciela scoffed. "What if I told you I had known all along?"

"Then I wouldn't believe you."

"Oh, Linebeck. Who's ever going to believe you now?"

Overcome, perhaps by the seclusion of night or by the unassuming thrill of having narrowly evaded death, he kissed her gently and briefly, but it was enough to set his heart ablaze in the frosty sea air.

When they separated, he extended his hand, which she graciously accepted and teetered into the seat beside Link. As he and Kreeb began preparing the rigging, Ciela spoke once more:

"Oh, and Linebeck?"

He looked at her and waited.

"My mother was Irish."

"Was she?" He beamed as he and Kreeb began unfurling the ropes and the dinghy began groaning down the side of the ship. "I suppose that makes sense, then, that you've got Irish blood."

"Why?"

"No one bickers with an Irishman better than an Irish _woman_."

"Farewell, Linebeck!"

With Linebeck and Kreeb's combined effort, it took no more than another minute to finally lower the occupied dinghy into the water. As they returned the rigging to its original position, the sound of oars persistently breaking water joined the chorus of night, and Linebeck found himself satisfied to watch Ciela and Link's figures churn across the water until the moonlight no longer illuminated their small vessel. From here on out, he would only be able to hope that the rest of their journey went smoothly.

"You think you'll ever see her again?" Kreeb asked suddenly. "We come to Liverpool frequently."

"Oh, I dunno," Linebeck mused, leaning against the ramparts dreamily. "Perhaps, someday the two of us can get a drink at the tavern—the boy will be a whole head taller and with _two_ sailors in the place, Ciela's grandpapa will lose his bloody mind."

"Whatever women and wine the future may bring us, we still have more important matters to take care of." Kreeb nodded towards Garrickson's thankfully still unconscious body. "As soon as he gets up, if he isn't inclined to kill us, he'll have us in for mutiny."

Linebeck stepped away from the dock and circled Garrickson thoughtfully. "What time is it?" He asked.

Kreeb looked heavenward. "Oh, hm… about half past two. We've got another four or five hours at least until anyone boards."

"As much as I hate the man, I don't want to kill him or send him overboard," Linebeck sneered at Garrickson's expressionless face. "But there's really no way we can keep his mouth shut forever. We have nothing to threaten him with, no family secrets or the like."

Kreeb leaned slothfully—and with less attention to the situation than Linebeck would've liked—against the mast and began absentmindedly picking at his fingernails, "We could tie him in the brig, or—"

"Boys, boys," Jolene said slowly, and Linebeck jumped. He had been so caught up that he had—fortunately—forgotten about her. Sauntering past Linebeck as if he were not there, she pressed a boot-clad foot atop the edge of the remaining dinghy aboard and raised her eyebrows. "Both of you have sea cucumbers for brains. Your answer is _here_."

"You mean we're all going to run away?" Kreeb scoffed. "We can't run away from the Navy. It's the only place a working man can get a decent meal for miles around!"

"No, you _buffoon_!" Jolene cried. "You lot need Garrickson off your backs but not dead, and I need off the ship. And here's what I propose: set me and Garrickson off in a boat full of supplies, then I'll dump Garrickson somewhere and head off by myself."

"You?" Linebeck laughed cynically and Jolene sneered at his jest. "What are you going to do with the boat? Row across the high seas?"

"I'm doing you a favor, Linebeck," Jolene insisted testily. "I wouldn't be picky if I were you."

Kreeb strutted coolly towards Jolene, the latter of whose temper was beginning to flare in her eyes.

"We can't just as well _give_ you supplies. They aren't _ours_ , now are they?"

"Fine," Jolene declared, pushing past Kreeb as she stormed towards the Quarterdeck door. "I'm sure the Captain's Quarter's will be brimming with treasures and other rather important artifacts. Lenzo wouldn't mind, would he? And when he came back, he'd find his quarters ransacked, the cabin boy missing, the Lieutenant unconscious, two sailors and a prostitute aboard. A pretty sight that would be."

"Jolene," Linebeck whined, scampering after her like a dejected puppy. "Your plan sounds bloody brilliant, but the purser would know if we took supplies and you can't just… hide Garrickson in the reeds and hope he never speaks a word to anyone. He's not some nameless fool like the rest of us. He's a Lieutenant and it doesn't take an idiot to alert the police or send a letter."

"What if I told you that I could keep him from ever telling anyone?"

"You can't kill him!"

"I won't. I've an idea, but never you mind that now. What do you say? Send me off with my own boat and you'll never hear from Garrickson again."

"Will I ever have to hear from _you_ again?" Linebeck droned.

"Hopefully not, but the ocean isn't as large as we'd all like to think."

"All right, Jolene, whatever suits you, I suppose. It seems to be our only option if we want to save our necks. Kreeb!" He called. "Go fetch a week's worth of biscuits. I'll get Garrickson in the dinghy."

"And ten pounds," Jolene shouted across the deck as Kreeb made his way to the door. "I have to make a living, too!"

" _Ten_ _pounds_?!" Kreeb retorted wildly, "You must be bloody mad! The Purser would notice if I took a ha'penny!"*

"Just go fetch it!"

Slightly frightened, Kreeb scurried downstairs while Linebeck began preparing the rigging. Jolene joined him, and to his surprise, she was quick to familiarize herself with the machinery. They worked in silence, attaching the needed ropes and hooks before finally heaving it over the side of the ship, where it hung like a dead man.

Gripping Garrickson by the shoulders while Jolene took his feet, Linebeck inched over to the suspended boat, and the two lowered him gently into the center. With his head propped against one of the seats, Garrickson's calm, unconscious expression juxtaposed the apparent pain that any waking man would feel in that position.

"It's a bloody miracle he hasn't woken up," Linebeck remarked. "He'll have a raging headache when he does."

"Good. Though, Linebeck," Jolene changed the subject, and, while both of them knew what was coming, neither dared look each other in the eye, "I hope you know it's bad form to steal from a prostitute. We've already had enough taken from us."

"I seem to do a lot of things with bad form, Jolene."

Perhaps she would have said more, but Kreeb interrupted with the slam of a door, winded, and boasting a sack of pathetic rations. He tossed the sack in the boat beside Garrickson, and produced from his pocket a ten-pound note and handed it painstakingly over to Jolene.

"How in _God's name_ are we going to get away with this?" He cried, putting his face in his hands. "He'll notice for sure. I had to pick the lock and I've no way to relock it."

"You'll think of something," Jolene assured apathetically, tucking the note under the neckline of her dress and into her corset. "You boys need to think creatively. The Navy's made you soft in the head." She clambered into the boat with little difficulty and strategically rearranged Garrickson so as to give herself more space.

"I hope we never cross paths again, Linebeck, but I have the strangest feeling that we will." Her expression softened briefly, hardly long enough for Linebeck to notice, but she soon broke into a ferocious grin. "And when we do, I've a mind not to let you off so easy."

"I look forward to it," Linebeck cringed, and nodded to Kreeb as the both of them lowered the rigging for the umpteenth time that evening.

Linebeck hadn't a clue what Jolene intended to do with Garrickson and, as night began fading into morning, he found that fatigue was beginning to blur any sense of consequence he might have felt.

The events of the last few hours began to seep into one another with the rhythm of crashing waves until it all felt like a dream; the remaining rum in his blood mixed with images of blonde curls and angry prostitutes, the throb in his nose as a black and blue bruise formed mimicked the rhythmic cries of gulls and tap of feet and scrub of brushes against the deck, and he awoke in his hammock as golden morning sunlight beamed like an unyielding river through the porthole.

* _Kreeb should be upset. 10 British Pounds in 1830 (according to the internet) is worth 993 Pounds today, or a whopping 1458 U.S. Dollars. The Purser, the man who kept track of the ship's money, would most certainly have noticed. The Purser was not paid and would make his own money by benefitting from the illicit treatment of the money-that is, he took some for his own. But he was expected to do this. Funny, right?_

 _A/N: Sorry for the long wait! There will be one more chapter after this. (Or one chapter plus an epilogue, depending on the length.) For those of you still reading, thank you! I hope you enjoyed it._


	5. Chapter 5

_And at last, for ctj._

Linebeck was unaware of when he had fallen asleep, but he sat up wearily and found Kreeb asleep in the hammock across from him, sprawled out in exhaustion. Linebeck wearily slipped from the hammock and staggered over to Kreeb, shaking his shoulders anxiously.

"Kreeb, get up," He implored, as his messmates eyes began to open. "We need to be awake to let the others up—if they aren't waiting for us already."

"Oh, God," Kreeb's eyes went wide as he grew more conscious. "Linebeck, your nose looks bloody _awful_. How are you going to explain _that_?"

"I don't know, but if Captain Lenzo has already tried to get up and we weren't there to raise the boat, he certainly won't be pleased."

"Aye, I'm coming," With a flippant wave of his hand, he ushered Linebeck out of the way and jumped out of his hammock. "We both look a wreck, Linebeck. Garrickson's gone, so maybe we should just admit to the captain what happened. There's no sense in lying if no one'll believe us."

Linebeck looked at him incredulously, "There's no way I'm going to say anything of the sort, Kreeb. You forget that what we've done borders mutiny. Captain might not be a cruel man, but he sure won't take kindly to both his First Lieutenant and Cabin Boy going missing in one night."

"That's it!" Kreeb cried enthusiastically, "I've got it!"

"You've got what?"

Kreeb grabbed Linebeck by the shoulders. "When the Captain comes up, you let _me_ do the talking, all right? Don't say a word. Just nod in agreement to whatever I say."

"I… suppose," Linebeck agreed dubiously. "Just don't say anything thick if you can help it."

They arrived above deck and, to their relief, there were no boats below awaiting their assistance. Studying the sky, Kreeb and Linebeck agreed that it was an hour or so past sunrise, probably around seven, and that, within the hour, Captain Lenzo would be arriving as he usually did, Coxswain in tow.

And their estimate was proven accurate by the breaching of morning silence when, over the placid waves of low tide, the continued rowing of one longboat and one dinghy filled the air. Linebeck and Kreeb rushed to the side of the boat and peered over the ramparts, spotting Lenzo and the Coxswain, Anton, rowing ahead of the long boat, filled with a dozen or so sailors rowing tediously-some hungover, some still drunk.

Anxiously, at Captain Lenzo's orders, they raised the men aboard, and Kreeb began talking, or perhaps rambling, but at the very least persuading, Captain Lenzo of his tale.

"Captain," Kreeb began, "You may be wondering why Lieutenant Garrickson isn't here—"

"Isn't he ashore?"

Kreeb hesitated, "No, Cap'n, and this is why; me and Linebeck were keeping watch o' the ship whilst everyone were off drinking on leave, when around midnight, we heard shouting, didn't we Linebeck?"

Linebeck nodded dutifully.

"So we went out to see who was shouting, and it was Lieutenant Kreeb in a dinghy, with a prostitute, calling for us to let him up. We weren't about to disobey orders, so we lifted him up, and instead of going to the Ward Room, he made for the Purser's study, picked the lock, and nabbed himself a right lot of money. Whilst Garrickson ransacked the treasury the whore told us that the Lieutenant was making to leave the Navy! And then—"

" _Kreeb_ ," The coxswain interrupted, the conversation having caught his attention, "Are you _drunk_?" He turned to Linebeck, bewildered. "Is he drunk?"

Linebeck, hoping for all their sakes that someone would buy this colossally tall tale, affirmed that Kreeb was completely sober.

"—Garrickson came up from below deck, money and the cabin boy in tow! Can you believe it? He had the cabin boy, Captain!" Kreeb stopped to catch his breath. "And what else could we have done? We lowered the three of them back into the water and with a whore, the cabin boy, and ten pounds, our Lieutenant rowed off into yonder!"

By now, they had attracted the attention of the dozen sailors aboard, who eyed Kreeb with concerned fascination. Linebeck, sure that their absurd tale would never be considered, studied Lenzo's expression carefully, searching fruitlessly for any indication of belief.

"That's rather unlike the Lieutenant," Lenzo remarked unaffectedly, squinting at the glittering sun-bathed horizon in the distance, as if he'd find Garrickson, rowing determinedly towards Ireland. "The man was… passionate about his job, and good at it too." He sighed with sound frustration and rested his hands on his large hips.

"Should I go ashore and notify the police, Captain?" The coxswain asked.

"Not now, Anton," Lenzo answered rather dejectedly, "There's no telling where he could be. I'll write letters to other captains and ask them to keep an eye out for him on their ship; but given the circumstances of his departure, I doubt he's aboard another vessel."

Linebeck let out a sigh of pained relief; they believed them! He managed a glance at Kreeb, who, aside from his evident exhaustion, looked as if he had found some solace.

"I suppose I'll be promoting the Second Lieutenant," Lenzo figured idly. "Lieutenant Salvatore!"

The Second Lieutenant, a washed-out and particularly unenthusiastic man, raised his head and grunted in affirmation.

Lenzo smiled reassuringly, "You'll be the new First Lieutenant, if you don't mind."

"No, I suppose I don't mind" Salvatore droned, assessing his fingernails with boredom. He diverted his attention elsewhere and mumbled incoherently about all the things he'd rather not do, but the only audience of his lament were the stubs of his frequently-chewed fingernails.

A sudden slosh of water turned Lenzo's attention urgently towards the ramparts. "Ah. There are more dinghies approaching. Sailors, if you would be so kind as to assist in raising the boats."

Kreeb and the others went to work, but there was something still nagging at the back of Linebeck's mind. He hesitated, then ultimately decided to stand his ground. Any inhibitions of authority had fallen lax during the night. "Captain," Linebeck began, "Yesterday, you ordered thirteen lashes on the cabin boy under the suggestion of Lieutenant Garrickson, correct?"

"Yes," Lenzo admitted solemnly. "Now, I presume you're asking because you think it rather out of character for me to order the lashing of a young boy, hmm?"

"Aye, Captain."

Lenzo considered this for a moment. "You see, Linebeck: I was uninterested in lashing the cabin boy from the start. It was Garrickson indeed who was clearly humiliated and needed a sort of reconciliation—and sometimes, even a captain must reconcile the power of his underlings. It is how I maintain respect. When it came to it, no—I would've either canceled the lashing or lessened the number. But it is not always the action that creates a message; it is the intention."

For a prolonged moment, Linebeck regarded him curiously. He accepted his explanation with a hesitant nod and left to assist in his duties. But as he looked onward at the horizon, fighting fatigue inelegantly, Linebeck found for the first time that he pitied the Lieutenant, who was somewhere distant, awakening in a rowboat at the fearless and vicious hands of Jolene. He'd not prefer that position to anything.

Out at sea, ships were fearless beasts, miniature worlds run by men who were trained to function like clockwork, but instead sang and danced and drank under the largest map in the world. The sea was a desert: a frontier of isolation where the changes in the world were only seen through the firing of a cannonball and the sinking of great masts.

Linebeck would return to Liverpool, he was sure; the world of land dwellers was far different than that of the sea, but chaos was not bound by legs or fins. With a foreign sense of overwhelming relief, Linebeck joined Kreeb and began pulling the ropes to bring the last dinghy up.

* * *

 _When first I landed in Liverpool, I went upon a spree_

 _Me money alas I spent it fast, got drunk as drunk could be_

 _And when that me money was all gone, 'twas then I wanted more_

 _But a man must be blind to make up his mind to go to sea once more._

 _-Go to Sea no More, Traditional Sea Shanty_

 _The End._

* * *

 _A/N: Fear not! There's an epilogue. Thank you for reading!_


	6. Epilogue

_For Everyone._

"Lieutenant!" Barked Kamo, the look-out, from his perch in the Crow's Nest.

Salvatore barely managed to lift his head heavenward.

"I rather think you'll find this interesting, Lieutenant! There's a dinghy—" He shouted feverously over the roaring waves, "—a dinghy that wants to board!" Kamo pointed westward and Salvatore, surprisingly interested, darted towards the westward ramparts and leaned over cautiously.

"Oh, dear Lord." Salvatore spun on his heel, but a curious crowd of sailors had already gathered to inspect the scene.

"Get back to work!" Salvatore snapped, but it was too late: a grappling hook sailed through the air and snagged tautly on the rampart.

Managing to push his way through the dense crowd, Linebeck peered over the edge; and what he saw both bewildered and delighted him.

"What is it?" Kreeb asked, unable to see from his vantage point.

Far below, rocking perilously in open water, was a dinghy, yes—but within that dinghy, Jolene stood, effortlessly and expertly gripping a sword in one hand and the clawless end of a grappling hook in the other. Beside her, looking rather seasick and sunburnt was Garrickson, arms and legs bound together with rope and a gag wrapped tightly around his head.

"Avast!" Jolene cried. "I have someone you might find rather valuable, Lieutenant! Go fetch your captain!" Garrickson looked around frantically, shouting unintelligibly into his gag.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jolene spotted Linebeck and smirked.

"Why should _I_ go fetch the captain?" Salvatore moaned, "What's in it for me?"

Startled by his demeanor, Jolene readjusted her grip on the grappling hook, which no one had attempted to remove. "Your Lieutenant doesn't _die_!"

Garrickson stomped his feet and let out a muffled scream.

Salvatore sighed melodramatically. "I suppose I could. What are we to give you in return for our Lieutenant?"

"Let me up, and we'll talk about it! I'm tired of shouting!"

With a snap of his fingers, Salvatore sent Dampa to find Lenzo; and with an irrelevant shrug of his shoulders, ordered the men to begin lowering the rigging.

" _Shit_!" Yanking Linebeck off to the side, Kreeb was beginning to panic. "Once Jolene's up here, she won't give a damn whether or not Garrickson says anything."

"Jolene promised she'd keep him quiet, didn't she?" Linebeck retorted.

"Aye, but do you believe her? When she's trying to board our ship an entire month later? How did she even bloody find us?"

The door to the Captain's Quarters slammed loudly as Dampa and Lenzo strode across the deck. "Someone's boarding the ship? Who?" Lenzo demanded wildly. "Pirates?"

"In a way, Captain," Dampa explained.

The dinghy appeared, boasting an unimpressed Jolene and her captive Lieutenant. "I've come to give him back," Jolene explained. "He's a right boring fellow. Makes a terrible first mate. I don't know how he managed in a position like First Lieutenant for so long. He's not cut out to be a pirate."

Jolene swiftly cut the ropes off of Garrickson and freed him. The haunted look in his eyes, however, indicated that he would not be attempting to relay any information for quite some time.

Linebeck and Kreeb eyed each other in astonishment.

"So I'm here in search of another first mate; and perhaps a bigger boat. And then I want you to bring me to the nearest harbor."

No one moved. _It figures that they aren't keen on doing a sodding thing_ , Linebeck thought, _None of these men have seen a woman in ages._

"Gentlemen," Jolene ordered with mock decency, "Please find me your finest longboat and your most disposable sailor."

Linebeck swallowed harshly, but found that his throat was dry. Joining Jolene was a terrifying prospect. Though his own skills were not plentiful and his emotional relationship with the Navy was turbulent at the best of times, leaving it was not something one of his rank and position ever accomplished before death. Ever since they had left Liverpool, however, he had lost interest in drinking contests and midnight shanties. He was reclusive, and whatever sense of nostalgia that had convinced him to stay rather than leave with Ciela had been misplaced; the valor and adventure he had remembered was something he had always imagined, but never experienced. And truly, Linebeck had begun to wish that he had accepted Ciela's offer. His choice (did he have a choice, though?) was between two adventures: one of routines, but sure, and the other of unlucky chance.

He locked eyes with Jolene. What waited for him on the edge of the horizon was something boundless, even anarchical, even domestic. Perhaps he would adjust to the life of a pirate nicely, if only he'd once again see Liverpool.

 _A/N: That's all, folks! Thank you so much to everyone who read this. It's been a pleasure writing some historical fiction. Drop a review with thoughts, comments, questions, criticisms, the like. And once again, please do check out ctj if you haven't before. Her works are phenomenal and she is one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I know. I look forward to many years of Zelda fanfics and friendship together, ctj._


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